CIN BLOG ENTRY: Does Everything Have To Mean Something?

Hmm. My thoughts on my writing style, the explanation for the name of the blog and the meaning of life, all rolled up into a single post.
Nope. Wasn't aiming for the bleachers on that one.
I hope that this crap comes across as a charming effort to touch something deeper and not a pretentious pile of "I'm better than you." I guess the difference for you, is how much trust you are willing to give me, as a reader.
Well, read on.


Does Everything Have To Mean Something?
09:46am 02/21/2005

I think so.

Or hope so, rather.

(For the sake of this post, I am going to set aside the GIGANTIC philosophical question that the title of this post alludes to.
"Is there a meaning or purpose to our lives?*"
That's a pretty big question. I wouldn't even attempt to answer it in a blog. We'll save that one for a long talk over drinks. Alcohol will be the key to unlock THAT particular mystery.)

Instead, I am referring more specifically to the manner with which I choose to express myself.

How I speak.
How I write.

I like to make HOW I choose to express myself be as important as what I am trying to say.

I like words. No surprise there. I use them (some would say too much). I enjoy exploring the WAY to say something, as much as I do, the meaning behind it.

I admit that there are times that I am alone and I talk outloud, trying on a new turn of phrase or an interesting way of saying something, that I've never heard before. Voices. Poems. Song Lyrics. Movie Quotes. They tumble out of me, in the solitary moments, as I turn them around and around in my head, examining them for greater meaning. More effective use.

It's what makes me happy, in my quiet moments.

Thank God that no one tapes audio records my apartment. They would think that I am a very high-functioning autistic.

I have been known to get a phrase or a song lyric so stuck in my head that I can't sleep. I lay there, turning over and over, in my bed, repeating the snatch of song, over and over, until hours pass and I lose the whole night. Eventually, I pass out from exhaustion. When I wake up, its still there, repeating over and over again.

Along with this love for words and their usage, comes a fascination for rhymes, puns and jokes. I love the intricacy of our language.
Some examples? How the word "horse" and "whores" are so close in pronunciation, but wildly different in meaning. Or the way that no one pronounces the "silent r" in February. Or the two dozen or so ways that a human being can verbally express the idea of "I love you".

I am a fan of the Liberal Application of Capitalization.
Likewise, I use commas to give my written word a conversational tone.
I am not afraid to capitalize and entire word or phrase TO GET MY MEANING ACROSS.

It is my goal that what I write actually sounds like what I say. Or at the very least, how I sound, when I say something.

And isn't that the goal of writing. To get an idea across. To communicate not only what you are saying, but also how you feel about it? Without saying, "I feel thusly about this..."

Isn't language flexible enough to bend away from 100% Cambridge English, to embrace the crude, slang of our common speech?

I can only say, that I hope so.
Readers will have to forgive me that indulgence in this blog. It is your end of this contract that we are entering as writer and reader.
I agree to write something vaguely interesting. You agree to give me the time to read it.
I agree NOT to flagrantly abuse the language. You agree not to whip me for my transgressions.
By such a contract, we engage in open communication. (Its a peculiar perk of this form of communication that you can respond below and I can respond to your response and a dialogue can spring forth from this monologue.)

This whole journal entry and the idea behind it came from the title of this journal.

"word"

Un-capitalized, plain-old, vanilla "word".
I chose "word" instead of "words" because I knew very well that my journal entries were going to be long. I know myself well enough, that there would be many, many, many words in EVERY entry. So, why not simplify that all down to one simple "word" as the name for the journal. It was economic and a bit ironic, in its own little way.

It amused me, when I wrote it and it amuses me, now. A week later.

It's far funnier than the pretentious alternative that I HAD thought to give this thing, "Gazing at the stars..." from Oscar Wilde, via Starman comics.

What a horrible title THAT would've been.

Cheers,
COB



*No, there is no purpose or meaning to life.
Nor does there have to be.
The sun rises and sets. You sleep and then are awake. Your cat is born and eventually dies and so were you and so will you. Its what you do with the time before YOU die, which may give someone else something to talk about. Why does there have to be more to it than that?